


Fixed Record

by oneawkwardcookie



Series: Song and Dance [5]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of Buck's parents, But otherwise, Domestic Fluff, Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Music, POV Eddie Diaz, Slow Dancing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: If music be the food of love, play on!
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Song and Dance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040189
Comments: 31
Kudos: 119





	Fixed Record

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitkat0723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat0723/gifts).



> Inspired by noticing a record player in Buck's apartment in 3x01, and by my own love of vinyls!

Buck doesn't bring over much when he moves in; mainly clothing (since they can't share _everything_ ) and kitchen items (which leave Eddie bemused and Chris excited). That's why it's surprising to lift some books out of a cardboard box and see a record player underneath.

“I didn't realize this was yours.”

Buck looks over his shoulder from where he’s been pulling out some complicated looking kitchen utensils, looking confused at the blurted out question.

“I thought the record player might have been...” He doesn't finish the sentence. but he doesn't need to.

Buck turns back to fuss over the whisks, only stopping and straightening up when Eddie wraps himself around his back, hands clasped over his and drawing them away from their fussing. He spins him round in the circle of his arms, looking up into his eyes in silent apology. He gets a slowly blinked acceptance in return.

“How did you get into records?”

This time the blinks are surprised, Buck’s mouth opening and closing a few times before he manages to speak.

"My parents had one. I - they didn't let me touch it but the sound of the old music drifting up, the faint hiss and crackle between tracks...They seemed happiest then."

Talking about his parents is always tough on Buck, so he tightens his hold, keeping them pressed together with one hand to the small of his back. The other makes a soothing motion up to Buck’s hair, before using his grip to pull him down for a gentle kiss.

“It was the first thing I bought for the new place myself.” Buck’s eyes are closed now, allowing him to scan his face in greater detail.

“It’s beautiful.” Buck opens his eyes at that, and he carries on looking at him, brushing a thumb against his cheek.

**

It stays in the spare room, in amongst the pile of boxes for things that they already had or things that they didn’t know where to put.

Buck’s on shift and Chris is at school and he doesn’t know what to do with himself with all the chores done, so he’s pottering around in the boxes, looking for a book he knows he’d seen at Buck’s a while back, when he comes across it again.

He carefully pulls it out, setting it down on the floor and kneeling beside it. It’s nothing too fancy, the clear plastic on top revealing the black and silver underneath. He lifts the lid and traces his fingers along the metal arm, noticing that the writing on the switch next to it is a little worn down. The wooden finish at the bottom somehow fits perfectly with the existing décor in their home.

With a new mission and a dogged determination, he starts trawling through the remaining boxes, searching for records. Half an hour later, there’s a precariously tall pile of them balanced next to the player. He finds another box for them, carefully stacking them in vertically with the opening at the top.

He replaces the lamp next to the armchair with the record player, carefully winding the cable under the table and plugging it in. It feels wrong to give it a spin without Buck here, so he settles onto the couch, checking his watch before switching the TV on.

By the time Buck gets home, it’s late and one look at Buck’s drooping frame tells him that he has other priorities. Buck barely keeps his eyes open as Eddie spoons pasta into his mouth, and lets himself be manhandled into bed, only making an effort to wrap himself around Eddie before gentle snores fill the room.

**

Buck must have noticed the record player’s new home, but he doesn’t say anything about it. The moment to do something about that doesn’t seem to come until a few days later, when Buck is dropping Chris over at Hen and Karen’s for the evening.

As soon as the front door closes, he starts a phone timer for himself and gets to work. 40 minutes later, he’s just about managed to get the silver arm in place when he hears the key in the door.

He turns to see Buck has stopped just inside the door frame, one hand still on the open door as he surveys the living room. Eddie has pushed the couch and coffee table back towards the desk, leaving an open space in front of the lit fireplace. The curtains are drawn, so the room is illuminated only by the crackling fire, casting a warm glow and soft shadows.

“Surprise?”

Buck unfreezes at his words, closing the door behind him. The rising smile on Buck’s face warms his heart, and he strides across the room to pull Buck into his arms.

“What’s all this for?” Buck’s hands trace patterns on his back, faint through his shirt.

“Does it have to be _for_ something? I just wanted to surprise you with something nice. You deserve it.” He tries to put that into a kiss, relishing the way it turns Buck a little breathless as he pulls away, only to reach behind his back and grab Buck’s hand, walking backwards as he leads him into the center of the room.

Letting go, he turns and flicks the switch. He watches the black disc spin for a second, listening to the faint buzzing almost synchronizing with the popping of the sparking logs, before turning back to Buck, clasping his hands to bring them to his shoulders before dropping his own to Buck’s waist.

The buzzing of the record is replaced by a softly insistent drumbeat, carrying the strums of a bass guitar and a rising and falling piano melody. He starts to sway, pulling Buck with him. It’s not proper dancing, and he gives up the pretense within the minute, embracing Buck and pressing their cheeks together.

“Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.” He doesn’t need to raise his voice to whisper the words into Buck’s ears.

Buck brings one of his hands down, interlocking fingers, before he finds himself being spun around and pulled back in, falling back into Buck ungracefully. It doesn’t dampen the fond look he gets in return.

“Thank you.”

He mouths along to the lyrics in response.

**

They’re just coming out of the library when he notices that Buck’s face has lit up, a grin bursting over his face at something over his shoulder. Calling to Chris to stop for a minute, he turns around to see a black and white shop front, the record in the shop logo making it immediately clear what’s caught Buck’s attention.

“Let’s go.” He calls Chris back and the three of them head towards the store. A bell jingles above the door as Buck holds it open for him and Chris, and they enter a narrow but long room, the middle filled systematically but messily with rows of boxes on tables. Looking down, Chris seems fascinated by the chaotic nature of the place, his eyes flitting between the pieces of album art that are framed on all the walls.

Buck lifts Chris up, an arm secure around his waist so that he can flick through the vinyl’s, until the owner brings over a small stool for Chris to stand on. Buck stays standing behind him and Chris rests on his chest as he flips through the cardboard sleeves, either peering down or pulling out every other one to see what’s on the cover. Buck mentions some of the artists he likes, dropping tidbits of information about where albums were recorded or what songs are famous or recognizable to him.

He finds himself wandering a little further in until he reaches some smaller boxes. It only takes a few minutes for him to find the perfect present. With a quick glance behind him to check that Chris still has Buck preoccupied (and vice versa), he takes the 7” record to the counter, slipping it into his bag before he makes his way back to his boys.

Chris has three records to show him. He gets all of them.

**

It’s Buck’s birthday and they’ve been out for a birthday lunch, cutting Buck’s chocolate cake and loudly singing happy birthday in the restaurant. Chris had given his birthday present first thing in the morning, knocking the bedroom door insistently at 7am before coming in and leaning over him to pass Buck a neatly wrapped present. Buck had rolled onto his back to peel back the tape and unfold the paper, to reveal a small keyring. It’s metal, with plastic in the shape of a house on top of it, crowned with a small photo. Buck had to rub the sleep from his eyes as he pulled it nearer to see that it’s of the three of them, a perfect happy moment from a few months back.

“I made it for you.”

Buck had pulled Chris up onto the bed and into a bear hug, pressing a kiss into his hair as he thanked him.

Once Chris was getting ready for the day at the aquarium, Buck had rolled over, arm wrapped around his waist, to ask what Eddie’s present for him was. He’d gotten a smirk and raised eyebrows when he said he’d give it later, but he’d refrained from doing anything other than rolling his eyes before rolling out of bed, leaving a gently complaining Buck sprawled behind him.

Now they’re back, Chris is in his room doing his homework, and they’re wrapped up on the sofa. He presses a kiss to Buck’s birthmark to get his attention.

“I should probably give you your present now.”

He finds himself being pulled down onto Buck before he can even finish the sentence, and he lets himself fall freely for a few seconds before he’s pushing to sit back up.

“ _That’s_ for later.” He gets up to take something from the wardrobe, hiding it with his body as he places his present into the record player and gets it set up.

He only turns when the strumming guitars start, eyes pinned to Buck’s face, waiting for the realization to hit him. He’s rewarded, once the drums kick in in time to the emphatic guitar, with a blinding smile. Buck leaps to his feet, head bopping to the music. He grabs the TV remote, mouthing into it enthusiastically once the singing starts.

_“Rising up, back on the street”_

He reaches out and Eddie lets himself be pulled into his orbit. It makes a laugh bubble out of him, and he wraps a hand around the fake mic, tilting it towards his mouth as he belts out the beginning of the next verse. It’s Buck’s turn to laugh, a booming joyful noise, and they both lean in to sing the chorus, Eddie’s free hand gesticulating wildly towards Buck.

“Dad!” Chris’ surprised expression from the dining room is enough to bring a heat to his cheeks, but the way Chris is also rocking side to side in time to the music makes him and Buck turn back to each, a silent smile and nod before they’re walking across the room, holding on to one of Chris’ hands each to guide him to join them. Soon, all three are mumbling and dancing along.

_“Rising up, straight to the top  
Had the guts, got the glory  
Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop  
Just a man and his will to survive.”_

He looks over to Buck. He looks happiest now.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos don't make the world go round, but they're immeasurably nice nonetheless!
> 
> Come and say hi on tumblr (oneawkwardcookie) 😊
> 
> The first song is Elvis Presley's Can't Help Falling In Love with You, and the second is Survivor's Eye of the Tiger. The record shop is inspired by a real one in LA (thank you Bing maps!) called Rockaway Records.


End file.
